


The Sky Never Ends

by uwhatson



Category: Leviathan - Scott Westerfeld
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-15
Updated: 2011-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uwhatson/pseuds/uwhatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rather AU version of what <i>could</i> have happened between Switzerland and Istanbul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sky Never Ends

**Author's Note:**

> For Willa.
> 
> I started writing this story the summer before Behemoth came out, and, because I am incredibly lazy (and because it would’ve required rewriting pretty much all of it), I decided to finish it as was, despite the fact that it had already been completely Westerfelded. Oh well.

**01.**

Alek had faced a lot of trials in his time—Mother’s overprotective tendencies, Volger’s fencing lessons, escaping from Austro-Hungary while half the German nation was hunting him down. But this—well. This was something entirely new.

‘He’s a _boy_ , you idiot!’ Alek whispered to himself, slapping his palm against his forehead and screwing his eyes shut.

That was the thing—Dylan was a boy. Utterly, inescapably, a boy. So much a boy, in fact, that it was downright stunning how much Alek—someone who had stared down machine gun fire and piloted a Stormwalker halfway across Austria—could feel a pathetic child in comparison.

Of course, this latest development was only the final blow to his already broken ego. Dylan had taken everything from him—and quite literally, in fact, considering that it was Dylan’s fault that Alek was on this ship in the first place, ten years of preparations and several tons of gold lying abandoned on the snow back in Switzerland. But the material loss didn’t sting anywhere near as much as this new and most personal development.

Alek wasn’t a fool. He’d heard of this, usually hidden away in old books in the library about Rome or Greece. The only time he’d asked his tutors about these little footnotes, they had coughed uncomfortably and swiftly changed the subject. So it was something that happened, apparently, though that didn’t mean people liked talking about it.

‘But why _me_?’ he groaned into the silent cabin.

‘Why you what?’

Alek nearly jumped straight out of his skin. Dylan was standing in the doorway, a bemused grin on his face and Tazza’s leash in one hand. His grin only grew wider as Alek stared at him, unable to form any words.

‘Sorry, did I interrupt something?’ he said, coming into the cabin. ‘You might think about using Clanker talk, if you’re going to be moaning about all private like. It’s not a big ship, you know, and people might overhear.’

‘People like you, you mean,’ Alek snapped.

‘Aye,’ Dylan said, without a trace of shame. ‘Something bothering you, Alek?’

‘No,’ Alek said immediately, causing Dylan’s eyebrows to rise in skeptical amusement.

‘Oh, _wirklich_ ,’ he said, sitting down on the bed, and Alek couldn’t help but smile. The ‘r’ was all wrong, and the ‘ch’ was almost a ‘g,’ but it was one of the few words he’d managed to teach Dylan so far, despite the boy’s insistence that ‘Clanker talk was barking easy.’ This was mostly because it was what Volger always said when Alek told him he had to go on egg duty with Dylan or go walk Tazza with Dylan or go talk about the inner workings of the _Leviathan_ with Dylan in an attempt to heighten the efficiency of the Clanker engines, and finally Dylan had asked what it meant.

‘Ja, _wirklich_ , Dylan,’ Alek said. ‘Hast du keine Ohren?’

Dylan burst out laughing, and Alek felt his stomach turn, though not altogether unpleasantly.

‘Well, we’ll be here all day if you’re going to use Clanker talk, you ninny,’ Dylan said, shaking his head. ‘Now what in blisters is bothering you?’

**02.**

Alek bit his lip following Deryn’s question, his gaze shifting from her down to the floor, though what he was looking at she didn’t know. There was nothing to be seen, not even a speck of dust. Say what you liked about these Clankers, but they sure were clean.

About five seconds had gone by, Deryn was still waiting for an answer, and the silence was verging on unbearable. She cast about for something else to say and chose the first thing that sprang to mind.

‘You know, you’re a lot tidier than I’d expect a prince to be.’

Alek’s head snapped up, his expression twisted in confusion.

‘What?’

‘I mean,’ Deryn amended hurriedly, starting to wonder why she couldn’t have brought up something normal, like the weather or the awfulness of the ship’s food, ‘I thought you’d have maids and butlers and all that to look after you at home. I wouldn’t have expected you to be so neat all the time.’ She finished with a wild gesture to the rest of the small cabin, the movement bordering on frantic.

It was at times like these that she could hear her mother’s voice in her head.

_You met a prince of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Deryn? And what did you talk with him about?_

_Oh, you know, Mum. His tidiness and his ability to use a broom._

‘I—no,’ Alek finally said. ‘No, I would have, but my mother wouldn’t hear of it. She said if I was going to one day be responsible for a whole empire, then I could start by being responsible for picking up my own socks.’

Deryn grinned, until she remembered something which made her frown in confusion. ‘But I thought you were “just a prince,” right? You can’t inherit any empire.’

‘Oh, right, I mean—I don’t know the word, er— _hypothetisch_? Not really, but if it were…?’

‘Oh, you mean hypothetically!’ Deryn said.

‘Yes, hypothetically,’ Alek repeated, looking curiously relieved. ‘She said you never knew what might happen, you see.’

‘Sounds like a smart lady, anyway.’

‘Yes. She was,’ Alek said and smiled sadly. ‘I think father would have “spoiled me rotten,” like you said, if it were up to him. You know, I think he felt bad about—about everything.’

‘Well, good thing your mum was there, then, otherwise you’d be even more up yourself than you already are,’ Deryn said, giving Alek what she thought was a pretty soft punch in the shoulder, even though the boy winced in pain.

‘Yes, Dylan, I suppose you’re right,’ Alek said, glaring at her. She was grinning back when she felt a sharp kick on her ankle. When she glanced back up, Alek had turned away to look out the window. He was trying to hide a smile and failing terribly.

‘Come on, you ninny,’ she said, grabbing Alek by the shoulder and pulling him to his feet with her. ‘Let’s grab Tazza and go for a walk.’

**03.**

‘Do you like flying, Alek?’

They were strolling along the spine of the _Leviathan_ , up on top (or ‘dorsal,’ as Dylan always corrected him) with the Mediterranean stretched out around them in its blue immensity, filling the horizon.

‘Yes,’ Alek replied eventually. ‘It is like… a Beethoven symphony.’

‘A— what?’

Alek bit back a groan. It had been a stupid thing to say. Even if Dylan knew who Beethoven was, he’d probably never heard a symphony in his life, and now Alek just sounded even more full of himself than ever.

‘Have you heard—?’

Dylan shook his head, tugging on Tazza’s leash to keep him from wandering off the middle of the spine.

‘Well, we sometimes went to the Musikverein in Vienna to the concerts, you see. And there was a series of works by Beethoven one winter, and… and—’

Alek tried to come up with the words to describe the memory of that one night—the golden walls of the Musikverein shimmering faintly as hundreds had listened in silence, momentarily stilled in their daily lives from the moment the first few notes filled the hall—quiet at first and then unfolding with each repetition, until the oboes finally drew the melody out once and for all, the entire orchestra joining in a sudden crescendo of joy and beauty.

Usually Alek was bored by these concerts, only attending them because his mother insisted and threatened him with extra fencing lessons if he refused. But this one had been different somehow. That overwhelming wall of sound, until it wholly enveloped you and you realized it wasn’t a wall, but an ocean, surging and pulling you along with it as it climbed and twisted, its final chord just out of reach, higher and higher, until you thought it had to end, had to stop, but still it kept soaring onward.

Alek had said nothing in the carriage on the way home that night, staring out into cobblestone streets lit by golden lanterns as his mother and father had a murmured conversation that had nothing to do with him.

Dylan was still staring at him expectantly and Alek quickly fumbled for an answer. ‘It’s the way—the way the music climbs up and up, but never seems to stop. Like—like how the sky never ends.’

Not for the first time, Alek wished his English was better, but he doubted Dylan would be able to understand him anyway, even if he was able to remember the word for _aufsteigen_ or even just _der Akkord_.

Dylan grinned at him. ‘Well, I’ve never heard any Beethoven, but I’ll take your word for it. Big on concerts, were you? I suppose you also learned the violin from the age of four and can play all kinds of fancy concertos or whatever they’re called.’

‘Well, I can play a couple concertos, but… very poorly. My father would always leave to take walks in the garden when my mother made me practice. I don’t believe I had the… “knack,” I think you say.’

Dylan laughed. ‘See, I was right about that violin, even if you’re terrible at it. You nobs and your fancy instruments that no one in their right mind plays.’

Alek snorted. ‘I thought the Irish were famous for the violin.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m not _Irish_ , you ninny, I’m _Scottish_. Completely different. You want me calling you German when you’re Austrian?’

Alek sighed. As usual, it was impossible to win any argument when Dylan was your opposition.

‘That’s what I thought. So don’t go confusing Irish with Scottish, or one of these days you’ll get a smack, and it might not even be from me.’

‘Well, that would certainly be a change,’ Alek muttered, only to be rewarded with a shove that sent him stumbling to the right.

‘You know, one day you’ll shove me right off this airship, and then where will you be?’ Alek demanded, rubbing his arm after he regained his balance.

‘With one less useless Austrian boy to nanny,’ Dylan replied. ‘Come on, I hardly touched you.’

Alek shook his head, but fell in line alongside Dylan again, continuing up the stretch of the spine, hundreds of feet above the sparkling blue water.

**04.**

Deryn sat in the darkness of her cabin, entirely unable to sleep. Having given up on lying there and staring at the shadowed ceiling after an hour or so, she was now staring out her small porthole and down towards the moonlit water, hypnotizing in its lack of change.

Stupid Alek. It was all his fault.

Not to say that he’d intentionally gone around trying to give Deryn the sort of insomnia that consists of an awful lot of wistful sighing and pointedly _not_ going back over every word and glance exchanged that day. After all, she was pretty certain that Alek was still firmly convinced that she was a boy. If Alek _had_ set out to give his supposedly male friend ‘Dylan’ the sort of thoughts that Deryn had previously believed only existed in her mother’s silly ha’penny love stories, royals must be even more barking that she’d realized. 

But Alek was definitely still the one to blame, since if they’d never met in the first place, Deryn wouldn’t even have this problem.

‘Barking spiders!’ she hissed, and turned away from the window, flopping once more onto her narrow bed. She needed to sleep—she would be staying up half the night tomorrow for one of the four-hour watches—but it was like the night before the middy exam, her brain spinning and her nerves jangling, the tension unbearable and ceaseless.

_Like how the sky never ends._

Alek had smiled after he said that, though he’d looked rather sad too, shrugging like he’d failed but in a way which was inevitable. She’d understood him perfectly, though, even if she’d never been to a concert house in her life and didn’t plan to go anytime soon. It had been the look on his face as he described it that she had recognized. It was the same look Da’d had when he’d taken her up in his balloon for the first time, and it was probably the same look she wore every time she left solid ground, climbing towards the clouds above.

She wondered if anyone else had ever seen that look on Alek’s face, or if she was the only one. His green eyes had been looking right at her, not at the horizon or at Tazza or anything else, just her, and for a second, it was as if—

What in blazes was wrong with her?! Another ten minutes of sleep wasted, and all over some stupid prince, just because he had nice eyes and was impressively good with mechanics and said her boy name in a way that made her skin tingle every barking time. It was ridiculous.

‘You can get stuffed, Prince Aleksander von Hohenburg,’ Deryn announced to the darkness, then closed her eyes and tried to make her mind give in to sleep at last.

**05.**

‘Dylan?’

‘Alek! What in blazes are you doing up? It’s three in the morning!’

‘You don’t have to tell _me_ that,’ Alek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d just spent nearly seven hours piloting the engines. Ever since they’d made the latest adjustment that evening, Klopp had only wanted the two of them on pilot duty for a ‘testing period.’ Sometimes Alek wondered if Klopp maybe gave the Darwinist pilots too little credit.

Dylan lifted his lamp filled with glowworms closer, saying, ‘Blisters, Alek, you look awful.’

‘Well… so do you!’ Alek spat back, pushing the lantern out of his face. And it was true— Dylan looked like he hadn’t slept in a month, all bloodshot eyes with dark circles underneath them.

But then Dylan cracked a smile, a pale crescent in the semi-darkness. Alek tried not to give in, but hardly a second had passed before he sighed and grinned back as well.

Dylan glanced away, and for a second there was something about his shadowed features that didn’t seem quite right, but by the time that Alek had blinked, Dylan was looking at him again and it was gone.

‘Are you looking for your cabin, by any chance? Because if you are, you’re going the wrong way.’

Alek groaned.

‘Klopp kept the lantern. I don’t know the ship well enough to be able to make my way in the dark, and I must have become turned around…’

Dylan snorted. ‘Come on, then,’ he said, and walked past him, back the way Alek had come.

Alek turned to follow, but he didn’t make it more than one step before he tripped, sleep-deprivation and darkness combining forces to send him crashing to the floor.

‘Alek?!’ Dylan hissed, and Alek was vaguely aware of the patter of hurried footsteps, followed by the placing of the lamp on the floor nearby.

‘…ow,’ Alek said. So far as he could tell, he was fine, aside from general bruising and wounded pride. He blinked and looked up at Dylan’s face, hovering above his own, looking oddly distorted in the dim light.

Alek tried blinking again, but the image remained. The shadows had done something altogether curious, and Alek could have sworn that Dylan looked almost like… well.

A _girl_. 

It was ridiculous, Alek knew it as soon as he thought it, but there was no denying that Dylan’s face, wide-eyed with unusual concern, lacking all boyish bravado, was unmistakably feminine.

**06.**

Alek’s mouth was hanging open, and Deryn couldn’t help the feeling that something was very wrong, even if Alek couldn’t have fetched himself more than a light bruising.

‘… hello?’ she asked eventually. ‘Anyone in there?’

To her confusion, Alek seemed to almost scramble away from her, backing himself up against the wall of the corridor, as far from her and the lantern as possible.

‘Yes!’ he said, his expression impossible to make out in the dark. ‘Yes, I am—I am in here. Do not worry, please!’

‘You sure?’

‘Yes, thank you!’

‘I—alright. Fine, then,’ Deryn said, wondering if she sounded as confused as she felt. Maybe Alek had hit his head or something, and that was why he was acting funny. Maybe they should head to the sick bay to have him examined. But Alek was already pulling himself to his feet.

‘I—I think I can find my own way back, now,’ Alek said. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, yes? Good night, Dylan!’

Alek didn’t even wait for her to respond before she heard his footsteps fading as he practically ran down the passage, quickly disappearing from the faint glow of her lantern.

‘...what in blisters was that all about?’ she asked eventually, but the empty corridor offered no explanation.

**07.**

Alek shut the door as quickly but also as quietly as possible behind him, and immediately collapsed onto the bed. He also covered his face with his hands, just for good measure.

‘Das ist nicht möglich…’ Alek muttered. ‘Ich bin ein Dummkopf, das stimmt.’

He rolled over and hauled himself up to look out the window. He could see the edge of Greece off to the left, the islands a string of dark shadows under the starry sky. They weren’t close enough that he could see any lights, but he imagined a few houses with fires still burning, mothers up late with sick children or working to darn another pair of socks, fathers working at their crafts or out looking for stray animals. They were invisible lights, but Alek could feel them illuminating his night nonetheless, a softly glowing reminder that the world was not falling apart, that life was going on—despite all evidence to the contrary.

 _Was_ Dylan a girl? Or had it all just been a trick of Alek’s mind, sprung from wishful thinking? Night could transform a lot of things. He could still remember childhood nights spent cowering under the covers, certain that the tree outside his window was a giant come to eat him whole.

But four words floated up from Alek’s memory, and he heard Dylan’s voice in his head, nervous but excited as well.

_I’m not really a…_

A _what_? After Dr. Barlow had interrupted, Dylan had never finished telling him and Alek had dismissed it until now as therefore unimportant. But maybe—maybe that was the answer. All this time, Alek had thought Dylan was just a normal boy, but instead those blue eyes and graceful hands had belonged to—

‘Gott sei _Dank_ ,’ Alek sighed and collapsed onto the bed once more.

At least that was one problem taken care of.

**08.**

‘Good morning, Dylan!’

Deryn looked up from her breakfast to see Alek standing beside her, looking alarmingly cheerful.

‘Er… good morning?’ Deryn replied as Alek sat down beside her, and grabbed a potato as well. ‘Feeling… better?’

‘Yes, very much.’ Alek stopped slicing his potato into manageable chunks and turned to face her. ‘I should apologize for my actions, I think. I was… tired, and not myself.’

At a loss for anything else to do, Deryn stared at him. He _looked_ awfully sorry, but that didn’t stop her desire to shout at him until she was hoarse, asking him what the hell that’d all been about and how she’d lain awake until nearly dawn wondering and it was, as usual, _all his fault_.

After a while, Alek continued more hesitantly. ‘I know I was, as you would say, a “daft git,” but—’

Deryn sighed. ‘Yes, you’re sorry, fine, apology accepted.’ She hated it when he quoted her like that. It made her feel like her stomach had just turned a summersault. All she’d wanted was to sit here and eat her potato in peace, letting food make up for lack of sleep. Leave it to Alek, of course, to turn even breakfast into a bewildering mess she wanted no part of.

And then Alek grinned at her and—

Stupid princes.

‘Eat your potato,’ Deryn mumbled and looked out the window like there was something really interesting on the horizon other than clouds.

**09.**

‘Your Highness, are you paying attention?’

Volger’s voice provided an unpleasant awakening from Alek’s thoughts, doing about the same job as would a bucket of cold water.

‘Y–yes,’ Alek stammered and tried to remember what the wildcount had been talking about. Unfortunately, all his memories of the last couple minutes were completely filled with thoughts of Dylan, with Volger’s voice just an irritating murmur in the background.

‘As exciting as your little daydreams may be, Your Highness, I should think our plans for our arrival in Constantinople might take some priority,’ Volger said. ‘You will be responsible for the fate of your men, after all, and you might do better at preserving their lives if you had been listening to anything I’ve been saying for the last five minutes.’

Alek did his best to look impassive, even as hot shame and guilt washed over him. It wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t stop thinking about Dyl—about _her_. How _could_ he, when his best friend—the boy Alek had _wished_ he could be—was a _girl_? How long had she been pretending? What was her real name? Did anyone else know or was it only him? Had she ever thought he might—

And there he was again, filling his head with thoughts of her when he should be thinking of Constantinople. Alek picked up his teacup, grateful to find his hands still steady.

‘Go on, then,’ he said, and took a sip.

Volger sighed. ‘As I was _saying_ , we have already established that we must get free of this Darwinist vessel, before the captain comes up with some paltry excuse to put us in shackles. Who knows how long it may be before Austria takes a side in the war and we are labeled Clanker enemies in the Darwinists’ eyes.’

‘But, Volger—’ Alek interrupted, and then fumbled for words. ‘I don’t see _why_ —why are you so sure the _Leviathan_ ’s crew would betray us?’

Volger looked at Alek with incredulity. ‘Don’t be a fool, Your Highness. The tenuous alliance that you secured by offering up our engines is hardly enough to override the responsibilities of these men to their country.’

‘But,’ Alek began, remembering Dyl— _Miss Sharp_ in the machine room, flushed from the heat, promising to keep his secrets even in the face of the hangman’s noose. Volger didn’t give him the chance to finish, however.

‘We cannot afford to simply throw ourselves on the mercy of these Darwinist sailors, Alek. If you think that they would all be willing to sacrifice their lives to protect your secret, then you are even more foolish than I had previously believed.’

Alek could see the sense in Volger’s words, but he still couldn’t stop hearing Miss Sharp’s promise, as if it were a theme from a symphony, coming back again and again no matter what Volger said in between.

_I won’t tell._

Alek made one last attempt, the teacup starting to shake in his tight grip.

‘But at least here we know the threats, Volger, whereas in Constantinople—’

‘Paltry compensation for the constant chance of discovery—a near certain occurrence if you continue with this careless disregard for any sort of prudence. Who was it that got us discovered by the Darwinists in the first place, Your Highness?’

Alek said nothing, unable to meet the wildcount’s gaze, and after a few seconds Volger sighed.

‘So perhaps you should leave decisions that involve your personal safety to me for the future, don’t you think? When we arrive in Constantinople, we will depart the ship immediately, before the captain has a chance to change his mind. We can then disappear into the countryside, lost to obscurity for the rest of the war, until the time comes when you can make yourself known again without receiving a bullet in your head as a result.’

‘… very well,’ Alek said, feeling sick, and placed his still half-full teacup back on its saucer. ‘Might we continue this discussion tomorrow, Volger? I told Klopp I would assist him with some further adjustments to the engines.’ The lie came easily, but Alek would have said anything to get out of Volger’s cabin.

‘Yes, perhaps that is for the best,’ Volger said after a moment. Alek pulled himself to his feet and walked over to the door. 

‘Just remember, Your Serene Highness,’ Volger said and Alek looked back from where he was already halfway through the doorframe. ‘Träume sind Schäume.’

 _Dreams are foam_ , Alek’s brain said automatically, too used to serving as translator by now to prevent the immediate switch. He’d heard the saying before.

Without replying, Alek shut the door and walked away down the corridor.

**10.**

Deryn stretched and rolled her head from side to side, each joint cracking like a shot from an air gun.

‘A little sore there, Mr. Sharp?’ Newkirk said behind her, and Deryn turned to see him grinning smugly at her.

‘Well, at least I didn’t forget my gloves like _some_ scatterbrained midshipmen I could mention, Mr. Newkirk,’ Deryn replied, and smirked when Newkirk automatically tugged down his sleeves in a vain attempt to hide his red and likely blistered hands, put through the ringer after a morning hanging off the ratlines.

‘Get stuffed, Mr. Sharp,’ Newkirk mumbled, turning red.

‘Oh, so you wouldn’t, say, like me to give you these?’ Deryn said, reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling out a roll of soft white gauze and a metal tin of cream.

Newkirk’s eyes widened, but Deryn could see him catch himself, too proud to be caught asking for help from a rival boy. She watched him squirm for a few seconds, then rolled her eyes.

‘Here,’ Deryn said, and tossed the gauze and the tin at him. Newkirk nearly fumbled the catch with his swollen hands, but he managed to grab them both before they hit the floor.

‘…thanks,’ Newkirk said, and Deryn shrugged.

‘Make sure you’re all bandaged up by the time we’re back on duty this evening, aye?’ Deryn said, pushing past him.

‘And maybe _you_ could get some sleep, then, Mr. Sharp,’ Newkirk shouted after her. ‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Too scared of the monster under the bed, are you?’

‘That’s just because I’m too busy saving your arse in my dreams as well to get any proper sleep, Mr. Newkirk,’ Deryn shouted back and kept walking, a grin spreading across her face as she heard Newkirk cursing after her.

Just as she made to crack her neck a second time, Deryn turned the corner and walked into someone, their heads knocking together before she realized what was happening.

‘Barking—’

‘Ach, Entschuldigung—’

‘Oh, Alek!’ Deryn said, once she realized who she’d just knocked heads with. Alek looked rather strange, frowning and all too distracted for Deryn’s liking, especially since she’d thought he’d gotten over that at breakfast.

‘You alright, Alek?’ she asked, and Alek smiled in a way she knew was forced.

‘Oh, yes,’ he said, dropping his hand from his forehead where it’d hit hers. ‘Nothing serious, I’m sure.’

‘I didn’t mean—’ Deryn started, but it was clearly useless. Whatever it was, Alek obviously didn’t want to talk about it.

‘ _Boys_ ,’ Deryn sighed under her breath. Then she said, loud enough that Alek could actually hear her, ‘Would you like to come up topside with me? It’s a nice day, and I thought—well, unless you have somewhere else to be…’ Her voice trailed off, her stomach slowly twisting itself into knots as she waited for Alek to give her some sort of answer. Unfortunately, he seemed to be treating the matter much in the fashion of her charming cousin Margaret when faced with the most perplexing question of which dress to wear to a Saturday dance.

‘I’m not—that is, I don’t think—’ he began, then glanced at her face and stopped as if the words had been choked back. Another agonizing second on Deryn’s behalf, and then—

‘Alright, yes,’ Alek said with a smile. There was a moment in which Deryn might’ve said he look almost, well, _guilty_ … but it was only a moment, and who knew how to read the expressions of daft princes anyway, so Deryn dismissed it, soaring now that she knew Alek would be coming topside with her.

‘Excellent! You can look over my sketches of your Clanker engines for me, then, and be useful for once,’ Deryn said, and Alek spluttered in indignation. ‘Just let me grab my sketchbook and we’ll be set.’

**11.**

Now that he looked at Miss Sharp in the light of day, Alek wondered how he hadn’t seen it before. True, the haircut was short and the airman uniform wasn’t particularly flattering, but there was something very different about his— _her_ eyes, noticeable when she wasn’t busy shouting or cursing or just being as soldierly as possible. It was when she was looking out at the horizon or petting Tazza or drawing in her sketchbook that Alek would notice it.

Or when he caught her looking at him and she didn’t look away fast enough.

It wasn’t just her eyes, though. There was a strange sort of grace about her as well. It was hard to believe, particularly when he saw her outdoing Newkirk at every turn or was on the wrong end of her really-quite-painful fist, but it was there all the same.

It reminded him a bit of Mother. She’d had the same air of someone who looked totally at ease, only because they knew everyone was waiting for them to show how out of place they really were.

‘What on earth are you _staring_ at?’ Dylan suddenly exclaimed, and Alek startled. They were sitting on the spine. Dylan—Miss Sharp—God, who knew?—had been sketching while Alek was supposed to be there for consulting on the details of the Clanker engines. Of course, she’d yet to ask him a single question, so he’d gotten lost in his own thoughts, helped along by the lulling warmth of the afternoon sun.

‘Nothing!’ he said quickly, knowing full well that he _had_ , in fact, been staring. Admitting it, however, didn’t seem like the best idea, particularly since he was still supposed to be fooled by Miss Sharp’s disguise.

‘Well then why have you been studying me for the past five minutes like some fascinating new species you’ve just discovered?’ she continued, despite all of Alek’s prayers that she’d let the matter drop. ‘It’s barking annoying, you know. Like being looked at through a microscope.’

‘S–sorry!’ Alek stammered, his voice squeaking a little more than he’d like. With one last glare, she returned to examining the drawings in her sketchbook, every so often making tiny adjustments to her sketches of the new engines.

Alek turned his gaze out to the far-off horizon instead and resisted the urge to sigh. Obviously, knowing someone’s biggest secret didn’t always make things easier. If anything, things were now more complicated than ever before.

Out of the corner of his eye, Alek could see the golden glow of her hair, lit up by the afternoon sun and ruffled by the breeze. He swallowed and tried to ignore thoughts of how running his fingers through it would feel, what her smile would look like as he brushed it back from her face, how—

And that was the problem, because the more he tried not to think about it, the more he did, and, Gott in Himmel, he was a prince, a someday emperor, not someone who could afford such thoughts about a… well, a commoner.

Because unless Miss Sharp was hiding a whole lot more than just her sex, there was no chance in Heaven that they could ever be together, even if she _did_ want to be with him in the first place. Indulging in such fantasies was stupid and pointless and the last thing Alek needed to be doing in the middle of wartime with his entire future, not to mention the future of his entire empire, on the line.

With a soft exhale, Miss Sharp suddenly dropped her sketchbook to the side and laid back, a small smile on her face and her eyes shut against the bright sun. Short as her hair was, it was still long enough to have fallen away from her face, fanning across Alek’s fingertips, his hand placed rather too close to where she had decided to put her head without looking first. It was light and soft and Alek knew that he should pull his hand away, but if he did, she was sure to notice. So he left it there, the breeze making the golden strands dance and brush across his fingers as they sailed through the endless blue.

**12.**

Deryn examined her face in the small chipped mirror in her cabin. Her cheeks were a little too pink, but she’d luckily escaped any further sunburn, a hydrogen sniffer snuffling in her ear and waking her before much damage could be done.

She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep with Alek there. What if she’d done something incredibly embarrassing, like snoring or drooling or—oh God. What if she’d talked in her sleep? Jaspert always used to make fun of her for the things she’d say at night, him having an excellent spot for observation, the two of them sharing a room. Most of the time it was stupid stuff about talking potatoes or dancing sheep, but occasionally she’d let slip a name or a detail that would send Jaspert laughing about the house, teasing her mercilessly until Deryn finally got fed up and punched him in the stomach.

What if that was why Alek’s face had looked so strange when she’d startled awake?

‘Oh God,’ Deryn whispered, her eyes growing big and terrified in the mirror. ‘Oh no. No no no. Please God tell me I didn’t—’

A sharp knock interrupted her panicked ramblings and Deryn nearly jumped out of her skin in surprise.

‘Come in!’ she said, after a brief glance around the cabin to check that she hadn’t forgotten to tuck anything incriminating back in its place.

‘Mr. Sharp?’

It was Newkirk. Sodding Newkirk, of all people, who had gotten her so flustered.

‘What is it, Mr. Newkirk?’ Deryn said, trying to look composed and calm, rather than how she really felt, which was somewhat closer to wanting a bucket to throw up into.

‘Um, it’s just— did you realize that you missed dinner?’

Deryn stared at him stupidly until her brain finally started working and—blisters. Of course she had. It’d been nearing sunset when the hydrogen sniffer had startled her awake, and then Alek had disappeared mumbling some unintelligible excuse that Deryn had just dismissed as boys being boys and therefore infuriating, and then she’d come down to her cabin and been so distracted thinking about Alek and Clanker engines and the clear sky with a golden sun that she’d forgotten that she was supposed to go eat dinner somewhere in there.

‘I, yes, I just wasn’t really that hungry, I guess,’ Deryn said, but that was a poor excuse and Newkirk knew it. No one was ever ‘not hungry’ when you had to work on an airship day in and day out, and Deryn already knew that she’d be regretting this later, trying to keep up with Newkirk as usual, with her stomach begging for food.

But Newkirk was grinning and his smile only got bigger as he brought out a white-bandaged hand from behind his back with a bulging tied-up napkin in his grasp.

‘I got what I could. It’s mostly rolls and potatoes, but I figured you wouldn’t—’ And then Newkirk just laughed as Deryn grabbed it from him, picking apart the knots with lightning speed and letting it spill out across her bed. A full dinner, for certain, if a bit bland.

When she looked up, Newkirk was already halfway out the door, still laughing.

‘Thank you, Mr. Newkirk!’ she said quickly as he began to pull the door shut.

‘Don’t thank me, you forgetful loon. Alek was the one who suggested it,’ Newkirk replied and then the door snapped shut and Deryn was alone again.

**13.**

Alek stared down at his teacup. Or rather, he stared down at his hand which was currently holding his teacup. There was engine grease stuck under his nails, which was never going to come out no matter how many times he scrubbed at it, apparently, and in the dry skin of his writing calluses. Otherwise, however, there was nothing unusual about them, aside from perhaps the odd freckle here and there.

Which was why Alek was having a hard time believing that, less than twenty-four hours ago, they’d been tangled in Miss Sharp’s blonde hair while the two of them were side by side, soaring over the world’s vast expanses.

‘Good grief, Aleksander, at least _pretend_ to be paying attention,’ Volger said sharply, and Alek jerked his head up, trying not to look too obviously guilty. ‘I always knew you were hopeless, but lately you’ve been plummeting past even my own meager expectations.’

Alek cast about wildly for a reply, but the excuse of ‘I’m sorry, but I was busy thinking about how it would feel to run my fingers through Miss Sharp’s hair properly’ didn’t seem like it would do the trick.

‘Once more, your quick wit and fast tongue leave me speechless,’ Volger said dryly, after more than a few silent seconds had passed. ‘Perhaps you will concentrate better when faced with the written word.’ Volger lifted a four-centimeter stack of papers from his desk and dropped them on Alek’s lap, the impact nearly causing Alek to spill his tea. ‘I will expect you to have read all of that by tomorrow morning, Your Serene Highness. And do be prepared for questions.’

Still silent, Alek stood, grasping the thick stack of papers with one hand and placing his teacup back on its saucer with the other.

‘Oh, and you might find someone to give you a haircut,’ Volger added. ‘It would be good for us to appear civilized as long as possible, don’t you agree? I would assume your midshipman friend with the colorful manner of speech would be able to help you. He must be used to cutting his own, after all, with his origins.’

Alek colored, but gave a brief nod before walking out the door. It was almost as if Volger _knew_ , as if he was constantly trying to remind Alek of just how impossible any pursuit of Miss Sharp would be.

As if Alek didn’t already know.

As he entered his own cabin, Alek dropped the bundle of papers on his bed and collapsed beside it, staring dully at the ceiling. Volger _couldn’t_ know, of course. Otherwise he’d never have suggested Alek ask Miss Sharp to give him a haircut, or in fact have suggested Alek do anything at all other than never speak to her again.

Of course, Alek was not so fainthearted that he was incapable of facing his problems as a proper man should. Obviously this… _fascination_ with Miss Sh—no, _Dylan_ , she was still just Dylan, goddammit, how could he have forgotten that? It was just momentary insanity, no doubt the result of weeks of trying circumstances and now being held on an ungodly Darwinist airship. Nothing had really changed, had it? She was still his friend Dylan and there was no reason why he wouldn’t have asked Dylan to cut his hair. Not to mention, she certainly had to be good at taking care of her own if she were to keep her disguise convincing.

His mind made up, Alek dragged himself off the bed and fetched a pair of steel scissors from his bag, dropping them in his jacket pocket. Then he strode out the door and down the corridor, keeping his mind firmly fixated on details like the pattern of the wallpaper and the color of the rug until he reached Dylan’s door, at which point Alek swallowed, steeled his resolve, and knocked.

‘Come in!’ came Dylan’s muffled yell.

Alek tried to open the door, but found it wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard he pulled at the handle. He was still pulling with as much force as he could muster when he heard Dylan on the other side say, ‘What in blisters is wrong with—’

The door swung inward. Alek’s hand flew off the handle and, with no friction to stop it, smacked him square in the face.

**14.**

‘ _Scheiße!_ Herrschaft nochmal, _täglich_ , verdammt—’

Alek stumbled back against the wall, holding his nose and, by the sound of it, swearing like good Austrian princes were never supposed to do. Deryn was promptly torn between concern and amusement. She did her best to suppress her laughter and exclaimed, ‘Sorry, Alek! Didn’t know that would happen.’

‘Well, _obviously_ ,’ Alek said, glaring at her. ‘I should hope you wouldn’t _intentionally_ attempt to break my nose.’

Unfortunately, Deryn was unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes at that one. ‘Oh, honestly, you’re the one who just punched your own self in the face. Come on, let me see it,’ she said, pulling Alek’s hands away from his face before he could stop her and leaning in for the sake of better inspection. ‘Good grief, you’re _fine_ , just a little bruised, that’s all. You barking princes, it’s like you’re made of glass.’

And then Deryn realized that she currently had both of Alek’s hands held tightly in her own, not to mention their faces were about five inches apart and Alek seemed to be frozen in place. She promptly dropped Alek’s hands like they were on fire and took a step back, shoving her own hands in her pockets.

Alek straightened and coughed slightly, looking away from her and, she couldn’t help but notice, licking his lips.

For a moment Deryn wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t stepped back—if instead of increasing the space between them, she’d made it not exist at all. Then she realized that doing so would’ve been the most incredibly daft move she could ever make, since Alek was sure to object to his supposedly very male friend kissing him full on the mouth. Flustered, Deryn turned to conversation as a feeble means of distraction.

‘What are you even here for, then?’

‘Oh, yes, I was wondering—’ and here Alek held up a pair of scissors pulled from his jacket pocket ‘—if you might be willing to cut my hair for me.’

For a few seconds, Deryn just stared, trying to determine if she’d heard Alek properly.

‘Cut… your hair?’

‘Yes. That is, Volger said I needed to look “presentable” for Constantinople, and it’s been nearly two months since I last…’ Alek’s voice trailed off and he waved the scissors back and forth with a hopeful expression. Deryn continued to stare.

 _Oh,_ great. _Some bloody distraction_ this _will be._

But Alek was looking at her with his gorgeous green eyes and, well, his nose was still pink from where he’d hit himself in the face not two minutes ago, and she did feel just a bit bad for him over that, so how was she supposed to say no, really?

_Deryn Sharp, you are full of clart. Stop making up excuses and just say no like any lassie with brains in her head would do. It’s one word. It’s not hard._

‘Fine, I’ll do it,’ Deryn said, and immediately wanted to kill herself on the spot. Her traitorous mouth and all the trouble it got her into, at least where Alek was concerned.

Alek, however, smiled and pushed past her into her cabin.

‘Where would you like me, then?’

 _Anywhere at all_ , Deryn’s brain supplied before she could stop herself.

‘In front of the sink’ll be fine,’ she said, hoping he didn’t notice her cheeks turning pink already. At this rate, she’d be about the same color as a tomato by the time they were done. ‘And you’ll have to stand, it’s easier that way.’ After all, Deryn told herself, she used to cut Jaspert’s hair all the time. Surely this wasn’t _that_ different. Right?

‘Scissors?’

Alek handed them to her wordlessly, and took up position in front of the sink, taking a moment to examine his reflection in the slightly chipped mirror above it. It almost seemed as if he was seeing himself properly for the first time in ages, brushing his fingers slowly through his hair as if he’d forgotten she was there for a moment.

‘Will you be wanting to save some for remembrance’s sake, then?’ Deryn asked him, attempting a grin.

Jaspert had asked her the same question when he cut off all her hair in the tiny rented room in London, and she had smacked him in the arm and told him to get on with it already. When she saw him fold up one of her long golden locks in a piece of paper and slip it into his own pocket later, she didn’t say a word, feigning complete absorption in the _Manual of Aerology_.

Alek, however, rather than hitting her in retaliation, just started and then quickly shook his head.

‘Well, turn around and face me, I need to get a decent look at you first,’ Deryn said and took a deep breath in an attempt to calm her racing nerves. Alek’s hair _was_ rather long, it was true, something he’d been hiding quite well by brushing it back from his face constantly. Deryn considered it for a minute, eventually deciding that about three quarters of an inch would be a good amount to take off all around.

‘Lean back a bit, would you? It’ll be easier for me later if most of it gets in the sink and not on the floor.’ Alek obliged, staring at some place past her left ear.

 _Okay, time to take the plunge_ , she thought, and, before she could think any more about it, snapped the scissors open and ran her fingers through Alek’s hair briskly, stopping a little less than an inch from the bottom of the section she was holding onto and snipping it off into the sink. And then it was back again, no time to think about it, just one section at a time, from the top down, Alek’s brown hair sliding through her fingers, soft and warm.

‘Stay put, would you?’ she huffed, Alek having the same annoying habit as Jaspert of moving his head whichever way she tugged, when the whole point was so she could get the hair pulled taut in the first place.

Alek just made a noise that wasn’t much of a noise to start with, more like a strangled exhale, and Deryn wondered if maybe she was pulling on his hair too hard, and Alek’s stupid boy sensibilities just wouldn’t allow him to admit it. Still, at least he’d stopped moving, and if he wasn’t going to say anything, then that was too bad. This haircut was his own barking fault in the first place, so from Deryn’s standpoint, a bruised scalp might be just what he deserved.

‘D-Dylan—’

‘I told you, don’t move, unless you want a snipped ear for your trouble.’ Having finished both the sides, Deryn shifted her attention to the front, her fingers brushing against his forehead as she worked. If Alek didn’t talk, then she could almost pretend that this was just Jaspert or maybe even Newkirk if she was desperate, some daft boy she didn’t give two pence for. She wished he’d shut up. Also, perhaps stop breathing, a little too fast for her to ignore, but that was just because she’d forced his head back so far he must be having trouble getting air.

‘D—’

‘What did I say about—’

‘Dylan!’ Alek snapped, and grabbed both her wrists in a tight hold, stopping her in her tracks.

 _Oh God, not_ again, Deryn thought desperately, and decided that clearly Austrians didn’t have a very good idea of what constituted personal space if Alek thought now was a brilliant time to have a bit of a chat.

 _If I leaned forward one inch, our noses would touch_ , Deryn thought, feeling slightly deranged. Alek’s mouth opened, like he was about to say something, and for moment Deryn thought, _Really? Talking? At a time like this?_ , and then—there was a knock at the door.

Deryn had barely enough time to wrench her wrists out of Alek’s grasp and stumble backward before Dr. Barlow came bursting into the room, Tazza at her heels.

‘Ah, _there_ you are, Alek! Honestly, I’ve been looking _all_ over for you, you’d think it would be easy enough on this rather small airship, but apparently that is not the case.’ Dr. Barlow paused. ‘Getting a bit of a trim, are we?’

Deryn waited for Alek to reply but after a few seconds went by with nothing but silence from the wide-eyed boy currently backed into her sink, Deryn figured she’d pick up some of the slack in the conversation. ‘Aye, ma’am. On Count Volger’s orders, or so I’m told.’

‘I see,’ Dr. Barlow said, although she threw a curious look at Alek, who still hadn’t moved since she’d barged in on them both. ‘Well, Alek, I was hoping you might take some time away from your… other activities, and spend some time with my eggs instead.’

At this, Alek finally unfroze enough to stammer out, ‘B-but, I watched them last night—’

‘Yes, well, you’ll just have to watch them tonight as well. I still don’t trust that clumsy Newkirk boy, and Mr. Rigby has informed me that Mr. Sharp here is scheduled for watch until midnight, despite my pointing out that my eggs are of far more importance than Mr. Rigby’s precious watch rotation. From eight until four, shall we say? Very good. Best of luck with your haircut, Your Highness.’

And with that, Dr. Barlow swept out of the room as quickly as she’d swept in, the door clicking shut behind her.

The room was dead silent, until Deryn swallowed and cracked a grin. ‘Barking spiders, what a lady!’ she said, looking at Alek in the hopes of some kind of response. Alek just continued to look ill.

‘Er, right, well, I’m almost done, so if you’ll just let me get the back—’

_And let me get on with pretending that didn’t just happen…_

Alek nodded, still wide-eyed, and Deryn closed the space between them again, placing her hands on Alek’s shoulders to move him where she needed.

‘I—I can’t believe Dr. Barlow,’ Alek finally said, as Deryn busily snipped away.

‘Well, you are her favorite for egg duty, after all,’ Deryn said, and Alek sighed.

‘But I don’t understand _why_. It’s not as if it takes much talent to move heaters around and stare at a bunch of eggs for hours on end, after all.’ Alek was sounding more normal now, much to Deryn’s relief. After one last slice from the scissors, she turned Alek back around to face her and considered her handiwork.

‘Tell you what,’ Deryn said, as she brushed a lock of hair back from Alek’s forehead and pointedly ignored the sensation of her stomach turning over, ‘I’ll drop by after my watch to keep you company.’ She held up the scissors for Alek to take, adding, ‘Sound good?’

Alek took the scissors from her hand, staring at them and biting his lip while his own fingers went up to touch where hers had been just a second before. Then he looked up and met her gaze, so unexpectedly that Deryn nearly took a step backward. ‘Yes. That sounds very good.’

‘…right,’ Deryn said and watched Alek run his fingers through his hair and smile.

**15.**

‘Ich bin.’

‘Eeg bihn—’

‘No, no— Ich. Bin.’

‘Yes, I know—Eeg—’

‘No, _listen_ to me. _Ich_ , do you hear it? _Chhhhhh_.’

Dylan stared at him. ‘You sound like my auntie’s cat.’

Alek resisted the temptation to throw his hands into the air in frustration. ‘I’m not a cat, I’m speaking German, now _try_ to get it right, _please_.’

They’d been working on the same phrase for a good quarter of an hour now, every repeated mispronunciation on Dylan’s part standing Alek’s hair on end, like the painful screech of an amateur violin player. He was beginning to wonder why he’d ever thought this would be such a great idea in the first place, but egg duty was boring, particularly at two in the morning, and Alek had thought this might be a better idea than sitting in silence while he did his best not to recreate every moment of the haircut Dylan had given him that afternoon.

And then Dylan grinned and said, ‘Ich bin Dylan, ein Fähnrich zur Luft,’ with hardly a trace of an accent and so fast Alek almost didn’t catch it.

‘…you’ve been mispronouncing everything on purpose, haven’t you,’ Alek said slowly, as Dylan clearly tried not to burst out laughing. ‘You… you _Dummkopf_ , why would you _ever_ —’

‘Mostly for this moment right here,’ Dylan said. ‘ _Du_ bist der Dummkopf, I think, Prinz Aleksander von Hohenberg.’

 _Mein Gott, die mehr man weiß_ , Alek thought, his stomach twisting at the sound of Dylan pronouncing his title like it was the silliest thing she’d ever heard, completely inconsequential and unworthy of her attention.

_If only._

Alek sighed. ‘Fine, Mister… “Clever Boots,”’ and Dylan let out a huff of laughter at that one, ‘well done. You had me quite convinced that you were a complete imbecile so far as languages were concerned. A most believable ruse.’

‘Talk big all you like, Alek,’ Dylan said with a roll of her eyes, ‘but after having your mum drill you in Scottish every Sunday, German doesn’t seem much of a challenge.’

‘But you speak English in Scotland. I thought.’

‘Aye, that we do, but my mum still thought we should know the Gaelic, so every Sunday Jaspert and I had to sit through hours of her teaching us. I think you might find it’s a little more tricky than _your_ language much of the time.’

Alek let out a huff of disbelief, and only realized his mistake when he looked back and saw Dylan glaring at him.

‘Want to bet?’ she said. ‘Alright, you teach me a German saying and I teach you a Scottish one and we’ll see who gets it in the least number of tries.’

Alek bit his lower lip and looked into Dylan’s eyes, hard with evident annoyance, but also—maybe just a hint of amusement?

_You’re going to lose, you’re going to lose, you’re going to—_

‘Fine,’ Alek said. ‘My phrase first. Bäume wachsen nicht in den Himmel.’

‘Baume wächsen nicht in den Himmel.’ It was very close, with just a couple of slightly off vowels. Alek felt the heavy press of impending defeat settle on his shoulders, but kept going anyway.

‘Try again. Bäume wachsen nicht in den Himmel.’

‘Bäume wachsen nicht in den Himmel.’

‘Very… good. Correct,’ Alek said, and Dylan looked smug.

‘My turn now,’ she said, popping and unpopping the snaps on her uniform, ‘and I’ll go easy on you. Na gèill is tu beò.’

‘Na gyai—’

‘Na gèill is tu beò.’

‘Na gèill ees—’

‘Is.’

‘Eis.’

‘ _Is_.’

‘Na gèill _is_ … tu… beò.’

‘Congratulations, Your Highness. Only four tries, and with the shortest saying I know!’

‘Alright, alright, you win,’ Alek sighed, turning away on the pretense of checking the thermometer. As he shuffled the heaters, Dylan asked from behind him, ‘What did your phrase mean?’

‘That?’ Alek said, scooting a heater across the floor with his foot. ‘Oh. Um, it translates to, “Trees do not grow into the sky.”’

‘What in blisters does that mean?’

‘Mm, that there’s a natural order to things, I suppose. That you shouldn’t get carried away by dreams. What about yours?’

Dylan yawned and propped her feet up on a nearby crate.

‘Do not surrender while you are alive.’

**16.**

‘Did you ever see such a blue sky, Mr. Sharp?’ Newkirk shouted.

‘No, I dare say I never did, Mr. Newkirk!’ Deryn shouted back with a laugh.

They were hanging off the ratlines, taking a quick breather before Mr. Rigby found them and yelled for them to get on with feeding whatever animal needed feeding next on this barking gigantic airbeast.

Deryn appreciated the rest, considering how late she’d stayed up with Alek in the machine room. She’d been yawning at least once a minute by the end of the night, which of course caused Alek to blame her for making him start yawning as well, which was ridiculous, anyway, since she was the one sacrificing precious sleep to keep him from taking an accidental nap as a result of the machine room’s stifling heat. At any rate, they had left the room at four in the morning, Deryn had had to get up for duty at eight, and climbing the ratlines was exhausting enough even on a full night’s sleep.

Still, it was nice—hanging in space with Newkirk, riding the breeze, surveying the world as if it was their own to rule over. Nice enough to wake her up a bit, which was something she desperately needed.

Newkirk shouted in terror and Deryn twisted around to look, expecting to see him with a broken rope or slipping footing. But when she saw what it was that’d made him so flustered, she laughed.

‘They’re only gulls, you ninny!’ she shouted up at him. Yet Newkirk remained pressed flat to the side of the airbeast, his eyes closed and his hands clenched around the ratlines. The big gray and white birds were still flapping their way past him—too far away to hit him, of course, but Newkirk was twitchy around beasties of all sorts it seemed, not just the fabricated ones.

Deryn grinned as the first of the birds soared past her, the black tips of its wide wings almost close enough for her to reach out and touch. Another flew past, and another, and Deryn laughed again. For just one moment, she let the safety line take her whole weight and reached out into the beckoning blue. She felt the air brush past her finger tips as a gull beat its way past her. Then she swung back, smacking solidly into the side of the _Leviathan_ once more.

‘Mr. Sharp, you are barking mad!’ Newkirk shouted.

Deryn said nothing. She closed her eyes and imagined flying without ropes holding her up or holding her down.

**17.**

Alek absently brushed away the sweat on his forehead, only to realize a few seconds later that his hands were covered in engine grease and smearing them all over his face was probably not the best idea. He sighed at his own foolishness, but went on peering at the tangle of wires in the open panel of the engines. He’d already done maintenance of the gears for the day and checked pressure levels, which were all fine, but Klopp had it in his head that something had gotten jostled in the wiring. Unfortunately, wiring wasn’t Alek’s area of expertise, being more at home with mechanics than electrics.

Klopp had given him a map of where the wires were supposed to go, but nothing seemed to look at all like it did on the flimsy piece of paper Alek held in his hand. It made him think of the maps he used to pour over in the library, imagining himself free from his parents’ constant denials, leading armies or even just wandering alone, like a knight from medieval times, making his way across Europe one country at a time. It was a starkly different picture from the real journey he was making—hunted and pursued, lying at every turn. Not to mention, he’d certainly never imagined travelling on a British airbeast. Perhaps that was the mark of exile—the maps no longer made sense to you.

‘Exil,’ Alek muttered, lifting up a wire to try and figure out where it led. ‘Exile. L’exil. L’esilio. Und… exilium? Oder, weil Latein dumm ist, ist es… profugus.’

Alek managed to find the wire’s beginning. Now to find the end.

‘“Fato profugus”… aus der _Aeneis_ , j—ach!’ Alek winced as a spark took him by surprise, stinging his fingers. At least he’d found the loose wire. He pushed his hair back off his forehead, and grabbed the pliers beside him. As he twisted and bent the wire back into place, Alek turned the opening lines of Vergil’s _Aeneid_ over in his brain, picking them apart for the first time since his childhood Latin lessons.

_Arma virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris Italiam, fato profugus…_

Alek huffed out a laugh as he gave one last tightening pinch of the pliers. His tutor had assured him that Aeneas was the hero of the story, founder of the Roman Empire and favorite of the gods, obedient and faithful. But even as a child, Alek had felt there was something wrong with his tutor’s explanation. Alek had spent a great deal of time wondering what would have happened if Aeneas had stayed with Dido after all, ignored the gods and left the Roman Empire for someone else to establish.

He shut the panel and stood up, dropping the pliers into the tool box. The sky in front of him was a bright blue. Alek glanced up at the side of the ship above him—a towering height that always made him want to take a startled step backward. A flash of movement caught his eye and he spotted Newkirk and Dylan hanging off the ropes, a flock of white birds flying past them. He watched, motionless, as Dylan reached out a hand, as if she was reaching out to an old friend. Although it was faint, he heard her laugh.

Alek made himself turn away, moving to examine the controllers. There was still work to do, after all.

‘“Fato profugus,”’ he repeated again, drumming his blackened fingers against the panel. ‘Exiled by fate.’

**18.**

Deryn knew she must be going crazy. There could be no other explanation for why Alek would be in her cabin, using her sink and her soap, making stupid expressions at the mirror as he tried to scrub the thick layer of engine grease from his face.

Deryn was well-aware that an Alek covered in black smudges, his eyes shining brightly in his darkened face, was one of her most favorite Aleks, and so his current appearance in her own cabin was thus highly suspect of being the final sign that her brain had had it with all the lying and the self-denial and the stupid, _stupid_ boys and gone on permanent holiday.

‘Sorry about this. I would have asked Volger but he didn’t answer when I knocked at his door, and—’

‘Scrubbing off engine grease requires soap, which you don’t have, for some reason,’ Deryn finished, trying not to stare as Alek started lathering on soap for the third time around.

‘I _told_ you, I lent it to Newkirk and he hasn’t—’

‘So why not go get it back instead of barging in here and bothering me?’ Deryn interrupted, but Alek was unable to reply, in the middle of rinsing all the soap back off again.

‘You’re closer,’ Alek finally said, and flashed her a grin.

‘By _three feet!_ ’ Deryn wished she had something she could throw at him.

‘Still closer,’ Alek insisted, rubbing a towel over his now rather pink face, leaving his hair sticking up in daft places. ‘And you have my royal thanks for the use of your sink, soap and towel. Your services to the crown shall not be forgotten, Dylan Sharp.’ He swept into an elaborate bow, flourishing the towel, rough and worn and of standard air service issue, like some sort of elegant silk handkerchief.

Deryn blushed and wished she hadn’t. ‘Shut up,’ she mumbled, and Alek stood up straight again, smiling like an idiot. Smiling at her.

‘Ach, Mr. Sharp, that’s no way to speak to royalty,’ Alek said, and Deryn thought, _Shut up, shut up, Alek, Newkirk might hear you, anyone passing by could hear you, you idiot._

What Deryn _said_ , however, was, ‘I thought you were “just” a prince, anyway. I don’t think I need to lose any sleep over politeness where you’re concerned.’

‘Why, Mr. Sharp, I’m wounded by your words,’ Alek countered, placing a hand over his heart for illustrative purposes and leaning against her bedpost for support in his misery. ‘To think I would suffer such cruelty at your hands! Ich bin verraten!’

‘I’m sorry, Prince Aleksander, but unless it’s an emperor, I really just can’t be bothered,’ Deryn said with a wistful sigh, trying desperately to maintain her straight face.

And with that, Alek collapsed upon her bed, gazing up at her with an expression of utter devastation. ‘The killing blow!’ he cried, and finally Deryn gave into laughter with Alek following close behind. His wet hair was brushing against her leg, leaving dark marks on the fabric, and she could feel the dampness against her skin.

‘Und sterb—’ Alek choked out around his laughter, ‘und sterb ich denn, so—so sterb ich doch—durch sie,’ and Deryn wished she could understand what he was saying but she couldn’t, so she just laughed and laughed instead.

**19.**

It was madness, Alek had realized. Complete and utter madness. Every time he decided this was the last time, the last day he let himself indulge in this foolishness, another day would dawn and he would wake up full of steadfast resolve—steadfast resolve that shattered the instant he saw Dylan smiling at him with a cheerful ‘good morning’ to follow. It didn’t matter how many times he repeated the same admonishments to himself— _you’re a prince, you’re first in line for the throne, you’re royalty_. They were just words, it seemed, and Dylan was so much more real than any of them.

Alek was sitting in the darkness of his room, staring at the wall opposite his bed, the blanket across his shoulders and his chin resting on his knees. He didn’t know what time it was, although that was probably for the best, since he’d turned off the light around two and it had been at least an hour since. It was impossible to sleep with Dylan Sharp taking up all his thoughts.

The cabin was quiet enough that Alek could hear his heart beating, his own pulse ringing in his ears. He kept waiting to hear another sound—someone walking along the corridor outside, a shout from men on the rigging up above—but nothing came. He listened to his heart beating, a slow rhythm he could feel when he pressed his fingertips together.

He wondered where Dylan was—if she was out in the darkness, keeping watch, or if she was in her own cabin, sleeping. It was strange to think of her as being so close when she could have been oceans away for all the difference it made.

In his head, Alek could hear a quartet, playing a piece he remembered from another night at the Musikverein. Another night of Beethoven. Another night of unfathomable beauty that never seemed to end, even after the curtain came down for the last time and the applause had ended.

He could hear the first violin, flying up above the others, so beautiful and so alone. So lonely.

Alek stared at the wall and listened to the violins in his own head, his mind filled with an endless pure blue and a name that wasn’t even hers.

**20.**

Deryn woke up and realized she’d been dreaming. She yawned, so tall that her jaw popped, and rubbed her eyes, wiping away a dream that was already fading, now hardly more than the feeling of infinite space and rushing wind and someone else’s hand in hers, gripping too tight for them to ever let her fall.

She glanced at the cheap brass watch at her bedside and groaned, much as she did every morning and had since learning the habit from Jaspert. She stumbled out of bed and made her way to the sink, fumbling for her toothbrush and jar of toothpaste.

Brushing slowly with early morning bleariness, Deryn turned to look out the porthole. It took her a few moments to realize what she was seeing, but as she did, her brushing slowed and slowed to the point where she simply stopped and stared out the porthole.

She’d studied the maps of their projected approach again and again. There was no question in her mind as to the name of the hazy streak of land on the horizon.

Eventually, Deryn turned away and back to the sink, where she finished brushing her teeth, washed her face and combed her hair—all without meeting the eyes of her reflection in the mirror.

**21.**

Finally, Alek picked the last piece of Tazza’s hair off the clothes lain out across the bed. Volger had told him to be prepared for anything upon their arrival tomorrow morning in Constantinople. Alek presumed this included entrance into higher class establishments—establishments which might object to Alek looking as if he’d rolled about in a room full of cats shortly before arriving. He’d already checked over each article of non-work clothes for stains from engine grease.

One by one, Alek picked up each article of clothing, folded it, and placed it in the leather case sitting on the floor.

Alek supposed it should’ve been a relief arriving at Constantinople. After all, leaving Dylan behind meant leaving behind the whole host problems and complications she brought with her. It was fortunate, really, that they were being forced apart before he did something truly imbecilic.

Dr. Barlow had requested him for egg duty, but Volger had intervened and told her that his preparations for Constantinople took priority. Again, it should have been a relief, not having to spend hours cooped up in that unbearably hot room, but Alek couldn’t help longing for its secure monotony. As he slowly stripped his cabin bare, all he could think of was how he would be leaving it forever in the morning.

He imagined the machine room, glowing with soft red light, full of unlabeled wooden crates meant for God knows what. He imagined Dylan sprawled across them, pronouncing German effortlessly, her face lit up with the heaters’ glow, grinning at him in triumph.

_Do not surrender while you are alive._

**22.**

_Constantinople_ , Deryn thought, worrying at the cuff of her right sleeve as Tazza snuffled about her feet. It was just past sunset now, but she could still see the shape of land on the dark horizon, solid and unmistakable. The place where Alek would be leaving her forever, disappearing back into that special realm of barking mad royals and idiot princes that had hardly a disdainful glance to spare for a common girl from Glasgow.

The first stars had already come out, even though the sun had barely dropped behind the horizon.

The spine was strangely deserted, but she guessed everyone was busy preparing for tomorrow’s landing—something from which she was exempt, thanks to her wonderfully special status as the lady boffin’s cabin boy. While she didn’t mind the thylacine, nor did she mind the view, it was still frustrating to know that everyone else was currently occupied by tasks considerably more important than her own.

‘Come on, Tazza,’ Deryn said, and started walking again. The sky was clear again, the Mediterranean having yet to let them down, but it was the dark blue of impending night and for once Deryn felt how empty it was and how impossibly vast.

Later that evening, after she’d returned Tazza to Dr. Barlow’s cabin, grabbed some food in the mess and been bossed around a bit by Mr. Rigby, Deryn found herself standing outside Alek’s door. The halls were dark and quiet, and her knock was loud in the stillness.

Hardly a second passed and the door swung open.

‘Dylan!’ Alek exclaimed in a hushed voice. ‘What are—’

‘I just—I just thought I’d—just let me in, will you?’ Deryn said, and Alek stepped backward, letting her pass.

Deryn went ahead and sat on the edge of the bed as Alek clicked the door shut behind her, wishing she knew what she was doing, wishing she knew why she was even here. The bed creaked and shifted as Alek sat down next to her, but he didn’t say anything as Deryn watched her fingers undo and redo the button on her sleeve again and again and again until finally, out of sheer desperation, she said, ‘So these Beethoven symphonies you went to see. That’s the music of your country, is it?’

Alek started beside her, but seemed to recover fairly quickly. Deryn still didn’t look at him, just the button, back and forth.

‘Well… no, actually,’ she heard him say. ‘Beethoven was German, not Austrian.’

And now she could finally look at him, because that was just ridiculous. ‘What? But I thought you listened to Austrian people!’

‘What, like Mozart?’ Alek said, clearly rather confused.

‘Sure, him.’

‘But I don’t like Mozart. At least not his orchestral music,’ Alek said with a shrug.

‘How can you not like Mozart? I thought he was as famous as Beethoven.’

‘Yes, but… Beethoven is more interesting. He was less… structured. More passion.’

Deryn snorted. ‘Louder, you mean?’

‘No, not _louder_ , Dylan,’ Alek replied, looking put-upon until Deryn raised an eyebrow, and he grinned at her sheepishly.

‘Well, _sometimes_ louder. But not always! Sometimes it was so quiet, and the whole hall was just holding its breath, trying to hear every note…’ Alek’s voice trailed away, and then he sighed. ‘I wish you could hear it, Dylan.’

‘Then sing it for me!’ Deryn said, knowing as she said it that this was stupid, that she should stop right now and shut up and start acting like a proper boy again—a proper boy who didn’t barge into his friend’s room in the dead of night and start asking nonsensical questions about Beethoven concerts.

But that was it. She didn’t _want_ to be a boy for Alek. She wanted to be _herself_. And what her self—not her boy-self, or even her _girl_ ¬-self, just her _self_ —wanted was to hear Alek sing Beethoven up here, halfway between sky and sea, the two of them together with the yawning darkness on every side.

‘Er… I’m not a very good singer—’ Alek started to say, but Deryn interrupted him.

‘I don’t care, Alek, come on—just sing it for me! It’s not like I know what it’s _supposed_ to sound like.’

Alek sighed, but she knew she’d won. He didn’t seem able to meet her gaze, but looked out the window instead, out toward the stars as he started singing out the first notes on the same nonsense syllables Da had used when singing back a tune for her from the local pub.

‘Da-da-da- _dum_ -da-da-dum, da-da-da- _dum_ -da-da-da-da- _dum_ -da-da- _dum_ -da-da-da- _dum_ …’

To Deryn’s surprise, it was a very simple tune, not like anything she would have expected from the way Alek had described it. It made her think of summer and running through the open fields behind the house, Jaspert chasing her and Da laughing from the back door. It was true, Alek’s voice wasn’t the best, but she could at least recognize the tune in there, which was more than could be said for her brother Jaspert’s singing.

After a minute, he broke off and looked at her, cheeks rather pink.

‘Sorry, I don’t—I don’t remember any more,’ he said, twisting his hands together.

‘Oh no, that was lovely!’ Deryn said before her brain could intervene and tell her that one thing boys of sixteen do not say is the word ‘lovely,’ especially not in the company of other boys. Alek, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice.

‘You liked it, then?’

‘Of course,’ Deryn said.

‘It would be much better with all the instruments, I think.’

‘I like it this way, Alek,’ Deryn replied, and now it was her turn to blush and glance away, as if something of fascinating interest had suddenly appeared between the floorboards.

‘Well, then. Now you must sing _me_ something,’ Alek said.

‘Wha—’ Deryn’s head snapped up, sudden panic seizing control of her. She’d always hated singing. ‘I, no, I really don’t—’

‘Fair is fair, Dylan. I don’t know any Scottish songs, and I sang for you, even though trying to sing an entire symphony by yourself always sounds ridiculous.’

He was right, Deryn knew it, the smug Clanker bastard. ‘Fine,’ she said, and swallowed, trying to think of a proper Scottish song. Unbidden, she heard the sound of Da’s voice, the same song he’d sing to her every night when she was little, trying to get her to fall asleep. She hadn’t understood the words until she was much older, after Da was already taken from her.

_Fine. At least it’s bang to rights Scottish._

‘By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, where the sun shines bright on Loch Lo—’

And then Deryn stopped singing, because this was the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

Her voice, her bloody _voice_ , how could she not have _realized_ —

She spun back to look at Alek, who was— _grinning?_

‘…you knew. You _knew_ ,’ Deryn whispered, and none of it made any sense, because how could he have known? And why on earth wouldn’t he have _said_ something before now?

**23.**

‘Answer me, you bloody Clanker bastard!’

Dylan was starting to sound a bit hysterical and Alek was feeling increasingly less pleased and more terrified.

‘Please, I didn’t—I didn’t want to, to _out_ you or anything, I just—’ Alek tried to say, but Dylan continued to stare at him in horror. As she made to stand up, Alek grabbed hold of her wrist and made one last desperate attempt to explain.

‘I just didn’t want to leave with secrets still between us. I—I wanted you to know I knew yours. And I wanted to tell you mine. But I couldn’t, except then you had me, with the Beethoven, and I just—I thought it would be easier. I’m sorry. Please—please forgive me.’

And at that, Dylan finally unfroze, dropping back down onto the edge of the bed, her head in her hands.

‘… how did you know?’ she finally said.

‘Er,’ Alek said, and realized that he hadn’t actually prepared for this question.

_I found you rather attractive, which was a bit of a problem, since I thought you were a boy. And then I tripped and received a sudden revelation thanks to nighttime shadows and possible brain injury._

Alek considered it for a second, as Dylan raised her head and looked at him with growing expectation.

_No, perhaps not._

‘I just—figured it out,’ Alek said eventually. ‘But I don’t think anyone else would be able to guess for the same reasons, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Evidently it was, since Dylan breathed a loud sigh of relief and fell back on top of the mattress. ‘Thank God for that,’ she said, and bit out a short and humorless laugh. ‘So I suppose that’s it for my secrets, then.’ She turned her head to look at him and Alek wasn’t sure, but—was she looking at him like that for a reason?

_God I hope so._

Alek swallowed. ‘Not—not all of them, I think,’ he managed to say, painfully aware that his cheeks were beginning to burn. ‘That is to say, I mean, I was wondering—’

But now Dylan was grinning in a way that made Alek feel inconveniently lightheaded and he knew he was making a mess of it, but her eyes were so blue and there were freckles across her nose, how had he never noticed that before, and she was looking at him like he was everything—

And that was as far as Alek got before Dylan reached up, grabbed him by his cravat, and pulled him towards her. He caught himself just two inches above her, the blush running rampant now, and he made one last-ditch attempt to be the gentleman. ‘I hope—that is—’

‘Oh, Alek. Do you realize you always manage to make a mess out of _everything_?’ she asked, and, without waiting for a reply, leaned up and kissed him.

Alek hadn’t been expecting it, not really, and it took him rather by surprise.

 _You’re leaving tomorrow_ , said a little voice inside his head. _You’ll never see her again._

But Alek ignored it, focusing on Dylan instead, who—

Alek pulled away and said with a frown, ‘You know, I don’t even know your name.’

‘Oh blisters, you’re right,’ she said. ‘ _Deryn_ Sharp, at your service.’

‘ _Deryn_ ,’ Alek repeated, and it was… unusual. Perfect. _Deryn_. He grinned back at her. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘Nice to meet you, Prince Aleksander von Hohenberg,’ Deryn said with a laugh, her fingers tangling in his hair.

‘Yes, about that—’ Alek said, but was cut off as Deryn kissed him again. ‘No, please, I think you might like to know— _Deryn!_ ’

**24.**

There was a knock at Deryn’s door. Hardly a second passed before she raced her way over and opened it. It was Alek.

‘Hello,’ he said, and then, after she’d closed the door behind him, added, ‘Deryn.’

She smiled at that, and he smiled back, but weakly. The gray dawn light drew out the dark shadows under his eyes, and she was sure she looked no better. She’d have to be getting ready soon, heading down to help with the landing. The watch sat on the ledge beside her bed, ticking away each second with its cheap metal gears.

After watching her face for a good while, Alek finally said, ‘Do you know how blue your eyes are? Like, like—’ He sighed and looked away, out toward the gray sky. ‘Nein. Träume sind Schäume,’ he said quietly.

‘What?’ Deryn asked, but Alek just shook his head and gave her a bitter smile.

‘Nothing,’ he said, and kissed her, so briefly that she didn’t have the chance to enjoy before it was gone.

‘I don’t suppose—’ Deryn said, ‘I mean, you have to—’

‘Yes,’ Alek said. ‘I wish—but it’s not safe here, for me or my men. You… understand, yes?’

And Deryn nodded. ‘I mean, you’re heir to half of Europe, aye? How could you possibly stay.’

‘I—’ Alek stopped. ‘I honestly don’t know what to say.’

‘Not much of a surprise there,’ Deryn replied, and Alek’s face twisted, as if he was trying to laugh and glare at the same time. Eventually, he gave up and just looked stricken. Deryn swallowed and looked away.

**25.**

“Do hurry up, Alek,” Volger said, and Alek took a couple of hurried steps to catch up with his men. It was a long distance across the dirt airfield from the _Leviathan_ to the small walkers which Volger had suggested were likely taxis that they could hire to take them into the city.

In one hand Alek held his leather case of clothes. In the other was a much heavier burden—the one remaining bar of his father’s gold, stamped with the Hapsburg crest. His arm was already aching from its weight.

Alek glanced up at the gray sky, then looked out in front of him once more at the city in the distance—a jumble of buildings spanning the horizon, broken here and there by what he assumed must be minarets. It was covered in a gray haze that made it hard to make out any details.

Finally, they arrived at the taxis. After loading their bags, they got into one of the many vehicles shaped like a beetle—a popular form, it seemed. Alek hardly listened as Volger gave the driver his instructions, staring down at the grated metal floor instead.

As they began to pull away, Alek turned in his seat to look back at the _Leviathan_ one last time. It looked surprisingly small in the distance, clinging close to the ground under a wide gray sky. They were too far away for Alek to make out the faces of any of the grounds crew. He turned away from the window to meet the eyes of Klopp, who was smiling at him sadly.

**26.**

The evening drizzle of rain was trickling its way down her cabin window, obscuring the city beyond. Deryn leaned her head against the glass and closed her eyes. It’d been a busy day, with all kinds of bustle and the lady boffin telling her she was expected to be a blooming diplomat tomorrow, which was a sight her Ma surely would’ve liked to see. For now, though, everything had quieted down, and she was alone again in her cabin.

‘O ye’ll tak’ the high road, and I’ll tak’ the low road,’ Deryn sang softly, more a whisper than a tune.

She’d watched Alek and his men leave that morning. It was hard to believe that they’d really all packed up and gone, with hardly a trace left behind, out into the hazy city and beyond her grasp. It felt like she was in some kind of dream—only it should’ve been the other way around, really.

‘And I’ll be in Scotland afore ye… For me and me true love will never meet again—’ and there Deryn’s voice broke, because she was crying now, good and proper.

‘On—on the—’ Deryn tried to sing, but the tune wouldn’t come and all she could do now was sob her guts out, the tears dripping down her face.

She waited for something to break the silence, but there was nothing at all to break it. So Deryn just kept on crying and wished that she could fly whenever she wanted, up above the rainclouds and into the waiting sky.

**Author's Note:**

> Alek sings the first movement of [Beethoven’s 6th](http://youtu.be/iMJPZ-mu-Ts) (which is all about the joys of simple pastoral life and which you might recognize from Disney’s _Fantasia_ ) and Deryn sings [Loch Lomond](http://youtu.be/XTynUOG1BMc) (in case you hadn’t already figured that out). Alek also references the third movement of Beethoven’s [Quartet in A Minor, Op. 132](http://youtu.be/Gxmhpaq6I4E) in Section 19. All of these works are absolutely beautiful, so I suggest you take a listen if you have the time.
> 
> Most of the German in this isn’t too important to understand, but in case you’re dying to know the translations, here are all the ones that aren’t explained or aren’t self-evident in meaning.
> 
>  _Ja, wirklich, Dylan. Hast du keine Ohren?_ – Yes, really, Dylan. Do you not have ears?  
>  _Aufsteigen_ – to soar  
>  _Der Akkord_ – chord  
>  _Das ist nicht möglich… Ich bin ein Dummkopf, das stimmt._ – This is not possible... I am an idiot, for certain.  
>  _Ich bin Dylan, ein Fähnrich zur Luft._ – I am Dylan, a midshipman (of the air). (Note: Alek is teaching her the male conjugation of “midshipman,” so as not to blow her cover to anyone else who speaks German. How thoughtful of him.)  
>  _Mein Gott, die mehr man weiß._ – My God, more than you know.  
>  _Ich bin verraten!_ – Alas, I am betrayed!  
>  _Und sterb ich denn, so sterb ich doch durch sie._ – And though I die, at least I die by her hand. (A quote from Goethe’s “Das Veilchen,” a beautiful (albeit rather silly) poem with an equally beautiful setting by W.A. Mozart.)


End file.
